Periodic Growth

I seem to undergo various cycles of involvement and removal, either complete dedication to self indulgence or generating as much distance from the mechanism that faciliate the simplicity within which to find myself on the back end of 3 day fiestas. Shades of Charlie Sheen come to mind minus the bank account; a retraction into an otherwise state of absolute sobriety can make me a bit edgy especially when others around me are going head over heels in getting wasted. Am I that much of a drunk, a junkie, and freak that I have to battle myself when the thought of getting off work at 3am must be capped off with a binge drinking escapde down at one of the local bars. Do alcholics think this way, while caught in a strong parasitic undertow to create favorable conditions, made up stories, and irrational logic to get me in the car and off on some rollercoaster time warp bungee jump acid trip, it feels that way sometimes after a couple of weeks of such behavior and even more so at the moment while being sans the devil's elixer, dandruff, and agents of exessiveness who bend wills like magicians bend spoons. The adventures help the writing to some degree, whether as a puncuation mark on an assortment of spontaneous tricks conducted with very little consciousness and a waterfall of extravagant deviant demeanor or as a diving board into the afterlife; those times where the second by second, breath by breath, near mental collapse walk along the wire above the flames of hell have served to transform me into a mechanical beast on a personal odyessy through the strange times of living in the digital age.

Not sure how long this current phase shall last, the extra sleep, clarity, and focus start the mind moving in all sorts of directions in regards to getting the things accomplished that all the partying took precedence over in the first place. The definitve distraction as I like to call everything which keeps me from doing such tasks as writing this blog. Either drink or sleep, these two pillars of existence stand by my sides, avoid, why put anything down anymore, give up, stand aside, leave the real heavy thinking to people who are halfway to the grave from meth overkill and wikipedia media burden. Sitting in this chair at the moment feels like being in restraints, barstools are calling, anonymous women, and street grade narcotics, come on, get back in the game, don't fight your place amongst the washouts of the universe, join the 21st artists, immerse into tomorrow land, popcorn, cotton candy, and death defying exploration at every turn. Only chance is to remain stone cold in this unheated room, awiating a chance brought forth by facing a series of tasks to help define the romantic notions floating around in my brain for the last twenty years, sometimes the bullet makes sense, other times,the bottle and occasionally the word, enjoy.